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This page was designed on January 25th, 2005 |
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It's a Dog's Life ... (The official home page of Abbey and MacKenzie Johnson) |
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This is us ... MacKenzie (L) and Abbey (R) ... and this is OUR sofa in the basement family room. No one is allowed to sit on it but us. Well, actually that's not true. The truth is that no one WANTS to sit on the sofa because it's so hairy (hee hee ... that's the way we planned it). So now this piece of wonderfully comfy furniture has officially become OURS! Pretty smart, huh? |
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ABBEY (aka "The Diva") Hi, I'm Abbey. I am a terrier mix who turned 10 years old in June 2004. I came to live with Rick and Deb in 1994 when I was rescued from the SPCA. I was an energetic six-month old who had been adopted once by a nice family, only to be returned to the SPCA because I was too active. Deb and I tend to be very much alike ... thus my nickname of "The Diva." We are both very much the drama queens (according to Rick anyway) and can be great actresses when we want to be. I drives Rick and MacKenzie crazy ... but we don't care! Girls rule in this house but don't tell the boys! Although I've calmed down considerably in my adult years, I still tend to have spurts of energy and enjoy playing with MacKenzie. But I'm more content to cuddle with one of my blankets, a stuffed animal, or best yet, one of my two humans! |
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MACKENZIE (aka "Ed") Howdy ... MacKenzie here. I am a seven-year-old shepherd/lab mix. Like Abbey, I was also adopted by from the SPCA when I was only six weeks old. I am very affectionate but tend to be a bit high strung. I don't care for change and I don't like my routines to get out of whack. I get really confused every year when Rick and Deb move all of the furniture around and put that big tree with all the shiny stuff on it in our livingroom. What's up with that?! I am nicknamed "Ed" because Deb says that I act exactly like Ed the hyena in Disney's "The Lion King." I figure that must be a compliment since she loves "The Lion King." My favorite things are running in the backyard with Abbey (we guard our yard from those wretched squirrels), having my teeth brushed (that is just SO cool!!), playing with my many toys, and cuddling with Bubba (a big stuffed dog that Deb gave me when I was just a puppy). Bubba is the greatest ... but now I have to share him with Abbey 'cause she likes cuddling with him, too. I also LOVE cookies ... cookies are just the bestest! |
LOOK AT OUR 'FAMILY' PHOTOS!! |
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A Note from Deb (who, contrary to what Abbey believes, IS the alpha female in this household!): The following essay was found at Showdogs-MagazineOnline.com and simply had to reprint it here. I've always said that my goal is to be the "type of person that my dog thinks I am." But I have also learned a lot by watching my dogs. This essay seemed to say it all . . . It's A Dog's Life Author Unknown Don't take this the wrong way, but for the longest time now, I have been trying to imitate my dog. Not his look, which is furry and chestnut brown. Not his walk, which, as with most golden retrievers, is more of a waddle. And not his tail. I don't need a tail. I have enough trouble buckling my pants as it is. Also, I can live without his bathroom habits, which can be summed up this way: "Tree or bush? Tree or bush? Aw, how about right here on the grass..." No, what I admire about my dog is his fascination with the simple routine of life. Every day for him is like boarding the space shuttle. For example: In the morning, I tumble out of bed, grumble, yawn, open the door, and ta-da! There he is, the canine answer to Richard Simmons. He is so worked up, he doesn't know which way to go, toward me or away from me. So he does both. "Oh boy oh boy oh boy!" he seems to pant. "It's morning and I'm gonna eat!" Never mind that he has eaten every morning since he was born. Or that he's had the same food every morning since he was born -- and that was 11 years ago. Never mind. He pulls me downstairs and waits breathlessly as I scoop yet another helping of boring brown nuggets into his bowl. "Oh boy oh boy oh boy! Food, food, food!" I yawn. Three minutes later, he is off the food thing and into a new obsession: going out. Again, he runs forward and backward. "I'm going out! I'm going out! Is this great or what?" Never mind that going out has not changed one bit since we've lived here. He is so thrilled by the notion of "exit" that he almost bites the doorknob off. He bolts into the backyard as if heading for Tomorrowland with a sack full of "E" tickets. I slouch and yawn again. The great indoors. Then comes with the "bathroom" routine, which I already have described. Humans deal with these functions begrudgingly. Not my dog. It's a real thrill for him. He scouts for the perfect spot as if looking for beachfront real estate. "Tree or bush? Tree or bush?" And I don't have that many trees. Then, once his business is taken care of -- and I make a mental note where we're going to have to shovel come summer -- he is off the going out obsession and onto a new one: going back in. It doesn't matter than he was in just two minutes ago. "Things have changed! Things have changed!" he seems to pant. "I gotta get in there! I gotta check it out! Hurry up, hurry up!" When I open the door, he bolts in, races back and forth -- looking for space aliens, I suppose -- and when he doesn't find any, he isn't disappointed. Instead, he snarls at some ratty toy he's played with for months, throws it into the air with his teeth, and watches it and. "Look at that!" he seems to say. "It goes up, it comes down!" As I make a cup of coffee, he jumps up to watch. "Whatcha doin? Whatcha doin? Coffee, huh? That's amazing!" He then clamps onto my leg and does a dance that, were it the early '50s, I might call the "Hootchie Coo." I am not sure what he gets out of this -- "Oh boy, a leg! Oh boy, a leg!" -- but he seems to be having a better time than many of the dates I've had. When I disengage and disappear behind a door, he lies down outside and waits for me to come out again. If it is only 30 seconds later, he will still react as if I were a released hostage. The sunny side. Now, my dog does not work. He does not pay taxes. He does not create anything new (unless you consider the bushes outside). But he also doesn't need clothes, doesn't covet cars or jewelry, and doesn't care about houses, as long as he can find a sunny spot on the floor and lie there for a few hours. Meanwhile, I am bored with my same routine. Getting up is a drag. I can't get excited about breakfast. And going out then coming back only makes me wonder how many flies I've let in. So I'm trying to imitate my dog. I'm trying to find wonder in the everyday. After all, when you think about it, it is pretty remarkable that you open your eyes each morning. And since every few hours you get to quench your hunger, well, that's a thrill, when you consider the alternative. So while I can't match my dog's drool, I am trying to match his zeal. Don't worry. If you come to visit, I will not clamp on your leg and do the Hootchie Coo. On the other hand, that sunny spot on the floor looks pretty tempting . . . |
